


King of the Ice

by willowbough



Category: Frozen (2013), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crack, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowbough/pseuds/willowbough
Summary: Yuuri read silently for a few seconds, then stopped, staring up at Victor.“I know,” Victor said, seeing his lover’s expression.  “It cannot be true!”“What can’t be true?” Phichit demanded, leaning forward in his chair.  “Come on, tell us all!”At Victor’s nod, Yuuri began reading aloud, starting from the second paragraph.    “‘Since the death of King Sigmund last year, there has been no known successor to the crown.  Our research has indicated you may be heir apparent to the throne of Arendelle.’ “





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a trip to Disneyland during which we saw far too many pouffy princess dresses, while sitting in the shade talking about Yuri on Ice. Written in partnership with Anne Ahn, who is doing a lot of the heavy lifting here. We fully expect this fic to be jossed by Frozen 2, but it was too much fun not to write.
> 
> All Frozen history and Nikiforov family history are our own invention.

“I am _what_?” Victor stared at the embossed emblem at the top of the letter in his hand. He shook his head slowly, but the words on the page did not disappear or rearrange themselves into a more believable message. “That’s—impossible!”

Checking the envelope again, he saw the way it had been forwarded from one city to another, apparently just missing each of their stops along the tour.

“What’s impossible?” Yuuri reached out, and Victor passed him the letter and the envelope, while the rest of the skating troupe looked on curiously. 

They were all lounging together in the common room of Victor’s hotel suite in Copenhagen, the day after their closing performance of “Victor and Friends.” JJ, Seung-Gil, Leo, and Guang-Hong had left the night before, while Emil and the Crispino twins had departed that morning. The others had opted to hang out for a day or two sightseeing, before flying out to their respective homes.

Yuuri read silently for a few seconds, then stopped, staring up at Victor.

“I know,” Victor said, seeing his lover’s expression. “It _cannot_ be true!”

“What can’t be true?” Phichit demanded, leaning forward in his chair. “Come on, tell us all!”

At Victor’s nod, Yuuri began reading aloud, starting from the second paragraph. “‘Since the death of King Sigmund last year, there has been no known successor to the crown. Our research has indicated you may be heir apparent to the throne of Arendelle.’ “

He broke off. The room had fallen silent, everyone wide-eyed and incredulous. Then Chris chuckled.

“They’ve always called you the king of the ice, Victor!” he pointed out.

_“Eto pizdets_!” Victor exclaimed. “ _Arendelle_? Where is that? I’ve never even heard of it!”

“Maybe it’s a scam?” Phichit suggested helpfully. He glanced at his former roommate. “Yuuri, do you remember all those letters Ciao Ciao used to get in Detroit, saying he’d won the Publisher’s Warehouse contest?” 

“Clearinghouse,” Yuuri corrected automatically. “Or all those emails we’d get about inheriting millions from some businessman in Nigeria.”

“If only it had been true!” Phichit lamented. “Think of all the coaching fees that would have paid for.”

“Or college tuition,” Yuuri added with a grin. “But I’m guessing most of us have encountered mail scams at least once in our lives.”

The tension in the room eased slightly at his words, though Yuri was scowling. Mila, by contrast, looked as if she were about to giggle. 

Just then, they heard the buzz of a keycard engaging. The door was flung open dramatically, and Georgi appeared, hand clasped in the hand of Katya, Mila’s classmate from history, and Georgi’s latest girlfriend. “You may congratulate us, all of you!” the skater announced, in ringing tones. “We are engaged!”

Pandemonium erupted. Mila squealed, and flung herself at the couple, Phichit and Chris cheered, Yuuri and even Otabek smiled, and Yuri’s habitual scowl lost a little of its ferocity. Victor grinned at his rinkmate, happiness combining with relief. They’d all liked Katya, ever since Mila had introduced her to Georgi six months earlier, and the older Russian had become absolutely smitten. She was calm and kind, and her warm, open affection for Georgi was making the skater almost stable.

“This calls for a celebration,” Victor announced. “Champagne, certainly! We can all drink to the bride and groom!”

“And to the coronation!” Chris laughed. “To King Victor of Arendelle!”

“Arendelle?” Katya asked, over Victor’s yelp of protest. “What about it?”

“It’s some kind of joke!” Victor insisted, before he processed what she had just said. “Wait—you’ve heard of this place?”

“My grandmother was born there,” she replied. “It’s a tiny kingdom, just north of Corona. Why, what’s this about?”

Victor explained briefly, showing her the letter. Her fingers traced the embossed seal.

“That’s the royal crest. Babushka showed me—she had pictures in some of her old books.” Her eyes met Victor’s thoughtfully. “This _could_ be legitimate.”

“But I’m not a king!” Victor protested again. “I don’t want to be a king!” He floundered on. “I’m Russian! We don’t even believe in kings! We shot the Tsar. And his wife. And his son. And all his daughters.” His face burned as he felt all the eyes of the room on him. “What? I can remember _some_ history!”

Desperately, he looked for the one person whose support he knew he could count on. “Yuuri? Tell me—I don’t have to be a king, this is… this is crazy!”

“You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be, Victor.” Yuuri’s voice was steady, calming, miraculously free from the panic that had been crawling up Victor’s spine. “But—”

“But?” Victor repeated nervously, not sure he liked the thoughtful expression settling over Yuuri’s face.

“We should probably go there—”

“And tell them it’s a mistake?” Victor finished hopefully.

“Or find out how they got this idea,” Yuuri added. “It probably _is_ a mistake. And, since you don’t want to be a king, I’m sure you can… what’s the word?... oh! ‘abdicate.’ You can tell them you want to abdicate and they should get someone else to be their king.” 

That sounded reasonable. But—

“We really have to go there?”

“I’ll come along and help,” Katya offered. “I still have Babushka’s old history books. And I’d love to see Arendelle—I have a few relatives there too.”

“You’re not going without me!” Georgi rumbled, hugging her close to his side. 

Victor’s eyes sought his lover’s.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” Yuuri assured him at once.

“Count me in,” Chris announced. “This is an adventure!”

Behind him, Phichit was nodding in agreement. So was Mila. 

Yuri snorted. “So the old man might be king of a country he’s never heard of? This I have to see.” He stabbed a finger at Otabek. “You’re coming too.”

Otabek’s straight brows rose and he glanced at Victor, who found his lips twitching into an almost-smile. Apparently satisfied, the Kazakh turned back to Yuri and gave a brief nod of acquiescence.

“You’re still a minor,” Yuuri said firmly. At the younger skater’s glare, he added, “We’ll need your grandfather’s permission to take you into a country that wasn’t on your original travel declaration.”

“We can have the tour managers do it,” Victor advised. “They’ll know which officials have to be contacted, besides your grandfather.”

“I am still coming,” Yuri insisted crossly. “Beka, we’re packing _now_!”

He swept out of the sitting room, pulling Otabek in his wake.

Yuuri shook his head as the door shut behind the pair, then turned back to Victor. “We should call the airport and book a flight out as soon as possible.”

“I can take care of that,” Katya volunteered. “And Arendelle’s not so far from Copenhagen…”

****

“Are you sure we should take Yurio?” Yuuri asked Victor when they were alone together in their room. “I know Otabek will watch out for him, but—“

“Of course, we’re taking Yura.” Victor patted his clean socks into their place at one corner of his suitcase. “He’d kick us from Copenhagen to Arendelle and all the way back home if we left him behind. Or do you want to imagine what he’d get up to alone in St. Petersburg?”

“So we keep him with us instead? Let’s hope we can avoid an international incident.”

“Among other things.” The Russian skater stared down into the depths of his suitcase, trying to conceal the anxiety that still lingered in the pit of his stomach.

“Vitya?” His lover’s voice was gentle. “Are you okay?”

Victor looked up with a smile that he hoped looked more convincing than it felt. “Da, my _zolotse_. And I like the sound of ‘Vitya’ so much more than ‘King Victor of Arendelle.’”

Yuuri smiled back, reaching out to twine their fingers together. “Then let’s hope you have the shortest reign in history!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor receives an uncomfortable lesson in family history...

“Oh, my God,” Yuuri said, staring at the wall of the royal portrait gallery. His eyes examined his lover’s face. “Vitya—“

“What?” Victor snapped, unnerved by his fiancé’s rapt expression.

“The eyes, the hair—even the facial bones. Vitya, she looks just like you!”

Victor had been trying to tell himself that the woman in the portrait labeled “Queen Elsa The Great” looked nothing like him, but Yuuri was already continuing.

“And so beautiful,” his eyes were warm on Victor, his voice slightly teasing but equally warm with affection, “ _both_ of you.”

“He’s right,” Mila agreed, coming closer and scrutinizing the portrait. “She could be your sister, Victor.”

“Not my mother?”

“Not yet. Look at this inscription: 'Queen Elsa, age 22.' She doesn’t look like anyone’s mother, yet. Didn’t Katya’s history book say she didn’t marry for another five years or so?”

“This is Elsa the Great? Oh, I love her dress!” Katya exclaimed, joining them in front of the portrait.

“So do I.” Mila peered more closely at the portrait. “I wonder if that skirt could be adapted for skating…”

A polite cough drew their attention back from the portrait to the important Arendelle personage who had escorted them to the portrait gallery.

“So, Mr. Nikiforov, you’ve seen the family resemblance,” the chief diplomatic minister, Anton Halvorsen, said.

“I see a resemblance,” Victor conceded after a moment, then plunged desperately back into his river of denial. “That does not mean it comes from a family connection.”

“Did Queen Elsa have many children?” Yuuri asked.

“There were four,” Katya said. “Two boys and two girls. My grandmother was born in Arendelle before moving to Russia,” she explained at the minister’s quizzical look. “I reread two of her old history books on the way here.”

“With that many children, there must be more descendants somewhere,” Victor suggested hopefully.

“None left from the three eldest,” the minister said. “Mr. Nikiforov, it would seem you are descended from Queen Elsa’s youngest daughter.”

“I still don’t see how it is possible—“ Victor began, but stopped at Halvorsen’s gesture.

“Allow me to show her to you.” The minister led them to another portrait. A delicate, younger woman posed there, with an eerily strong resemblance to Elsa.

“This is the princess Sonia—Queen Elsa’s last child. Her birth was unexpected, many years after her brothers and sister. In our history, she has another name.” The minister paused. “She is called ‘The Lost Princess’.”

“ _Bozhe moi_ ,” Mila breathed. “Victor, this one looks even more like you!” 

It was true. Sonia’s chin was a little less rounded than her mother’s, the lower bones of her face a little sharper and more pronounced. Victor felt his companions’ eyes all making the comparison.

“It’s still impossible!” he insisted. “When my parents were alive, they never spoke about Arendelle. Nobody in my family has ever mentioned this place to me!”

“The princess Sonia left Arendelle,” Halvorsen said. “She ran away to marry a man that her mother did not approve of, and for many years no one knew where they had gone.”

He cleared his throat again. “Recently, using modern methods, we have been able to track her to some extent. She and her husband fled to Corona, and lived there under assumed names for several years, not known as royalty or even nobility. They had twin daughters, named Solveig and Valeria. Later, the family moved again, still under their false identities, into Russia.”

He paused. “Mr. Nikiforov, it appears that you are descended from the princess Valeria. She had a son, Kai, who married a Frenchwoman. Their daughter, Solange, married a man named Alexei Nikiforov.”

Victor froze at the name, eyes widening. He flushed, then paled, and pushed suddenly clenched fists against his forehead, hiding his face altogether. Behind the shelter of his hands he began to swear, and Yuuri had learned enough Russian to know his language was stronger than anything the younger Yuri had ever used. 

“You recognize the name?” the minister asked.

“ _Der'mo_ , yes,” Victor groaned, still hiding his face. “He was a great-great-I don’t know how many ‘greats’ back, and he was notorious—what do you say… a black sheep. A disgrace. They called him Mad Alexei, or Alexei the Wild Man. He was a gambler: he won a whole fortune, and lost it again. And won maybe another half of it back and buried it under a tree somewhere in the garden just before the Revolution came. His wife was just as wild as he was. She ran away with him, from a convent school, on horseback, when she was only seventeen.”

He pounded his fists lightly against his temples and groaned again.

“Did your family have any papers that could prove this connection?” Halvorsen asked.

“No.” Victor felt a desperate stirring of hope, and lowered his hands. “All I’ve ever heard were stories. And after two wars and the Revolution I don’t think there could be any records.”

If they couldn’t find records they couldn’t prove he’d have to be a king… 

“Our investigators can continue to search, now that you’ve confirmed the name,” Halvorsen said confidently. “Birth records, marriage documents… they have a way of turning up somewhere. It may simply be a matter of time.”

He smiled at Victor reassuringly. Victor pulled on his public relations expression again.

“As you say,” he responded blandly, trying to conceal his hope that nothing would be found.

“In the meantime,” the minister said cordially, “You and your companions are welcome to stay on as guests of Arendelle. Though, if you don’t mind—we will ask you to be discreet about your claim—“

“As I said earlier,” Victor repeated coolly, “I feel all of this is yet to be proven. But thank you for your hospitality. Where could we arrange accommodations?”

“There are actually guest suites here in the palace—we’ve arranged for your luggage to be taken there.” He pulled a bell-cord, and a maid in a dark uniform with a white apron and cap appeared. “Sigrid and I can show you to your quarters.” 

****

 

“These apartments were meant to accommodate visiting royalty,” Halvorsen explained, as the troupe stared around the spacious rooms. “Do they seem large enough for your requirements ?”

They were standing in the last of what looked to be a series of common rooms, at the end of a hall with several doors leading to individual bedrooms. Their luggage had been arranged next to the fireplace.

“They look very comfortable, thank you,” Victor said, maintaining his gracious, public-relations voice.

“Good. Then, is there any further way I could be of assistance to you?”

 _Tell me I don’t have to be your king_ , Victor thought into the silence, but it was Katya who spoke up.

“I believe I have relatives here, in the older part of the town. I’d like to visit them, perhaps tomorrow?”

“And I’d like to take in a tavern or two,” Chris said smoothly. “An unimpeachable source has mentioned Arendelle microbrewed beer, and it is the off-season.”

“Of course, we can provide guides into the old town for you, tomorrow,” the minister assured them. “Although, before you go, I would like to request two favors.”

He turned to face the whole company. “Again, if you don’t mind, please do not mention Mr. Nikiforov’s possible claim to the throne. Since the late king’s death, there have been numerous wild rumors regarding the search for descendants of Queen Elsa.”

“There are many tales about her in the history books,” Katya said, looking thoughtful. “About certain powers…”

“The legends about Queen Elsa say that she had an… affinity for ice and snow. The oldest tales even called it magic.” The minister chuckled. “Just superstitious nonsense, of course. Nothing but myth and exaggeration.” 

Victor thought about the young woman whose portrait he had seen in the gallery. “I’m sure she was a formidable queen,” he said at last, “but I still regard this claim of royal blood as unproven.” _Despite Alexei the Madman_. “But that is only one thing, minister. You said there were two?”

“Should you speak to people in the old town—it would be best not to mention that you have accommodations in the palace. There are some mischievous elements in the citizenry—“

“Surely they wouldn’t _attack_ us?” Victor asked.

“Oh no, no, not at all. But they might try to . . . pull your leg, is it called? I think I should warn you—there are some among the townsfolk who like to tell newcomers and tourists that the castle is haunted.” 

An uneasy silence fell.

“No one really believes this, of course,” the minister hastened to sound reassuring. “Just—perhaps it is best not to mention where you are staying, for now.”

“Of course,” Victor answered, speaking, as he was used to doing, on behalf of the entire troupe. “And for now—we are tired, I think, from our journey here, and it is getting late. If you will excuse us, sir?”

“Of course,” Halvorsen replied in return. “Sigrid will see that dinner is brought to your dining room, and you may let her know if there is anything further you require for the night.”

The dark-uniformed maid nodded silently.

“Thank you,” Victor said to them both, and watched in relief as they departed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company prepares for their first night in a haunted castle...

Yuuri exhaled deeply, looking at Victor, when the minister had finally gone. “Now _that_ is a lot to think about. First, there’s Queen Elsa the Great, who looks uncomfortably like you. Then there’s her daughter Sonia, who looks even _more_ like you.”

Victor winced, but refrained from burying his face in his hands again.

“The connection would appear to be genuine,” Chris observed. “Yet another part of the Victor Nikiforov Mystique. You have royal blood!” 

“Chris…” Victor breathed slowly. “You are not helping.”

“And Sonia ran away to marry Prince Nikolai,” Yuuri repeated the history slowly, clarifying it to himself, “and her great-granddaughter Solange ran away to marry Alexei the Wild Man Nikiforov.”

“Yes,” Victor groaned. The cold knot in his stomach, which had first formed when he had heard Alexei’s name, twisted and enlarged.

Mila suddenly began to giggle, and Chris was smirking. “Well, Victor, it seems to be your family tradition.”

“What does?”

“To throw everything away and run off to find love. At least you come by this tendency honestly.”

“Chris,” Victor pressed his fingers against his temples and repeated, “You are not helping.” He groaned again. “ _Bozhe moi. Der’mo_. It _would_ have to be Mad Alexei.”

“He was so famous in your family?” Yuuri asked.

“Infamous. Terrible. The one we had to live down. Whenever they told family stories he was always the bad example. The disgrace. ‘Don’t be like Alexei the Wild Man! Remember, he ruined the family!’ And now,” Victor paused to consider the situation, “now he will have ruined my life!”

“What about his wife?” his fiancé persisted. “The minister said she was the one descended from Queen Elsa. Weren’t there any stories in your family about her?”

“Only about their elopement. To show how wild she and Alexei both were. Nothing that mentioned,” Victor frowned, recalling Halvorsen’s words, “‘affinity for ice and snow.’” 

“And what is an affinity?” Yuri scowled. “Does that mean she could make it snow? Who would want to do that, in Russia? The last thing we need is more snow!”

“Or it is a good way to hide,” Otabek said slowly.

Victor stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“If you could make it snow, with some sort of magical power—but what if you didn’t mean to? If you made it snow by accident--”

“Then hide in a place where it snows almost constantly…”

“And no one will notice.”

The company fell silent.

“ ‘Affinity’,” Victor repeated again. “You’re right, Yurio, what is affinity with ice and snow? I don’t know.”

Inevitably, his mind went to his skating capabilities. “Is a quad flip evidence of a magical power? That sounds absurd.”

Chris began to laugh. “They’ve always described your programs as magical, Victor! Maybe you’ve had an unfair advantage all this time! Should they check for magic the way they do for steroids?”

Victor sighed. “You are having far too much fun with this.”

“ _I_ can do a quad flip,” Yuuri pointed out; Victor shot him a look of gratitude. “And I know I’m not from Arendelle.”

“Ah, but you were taught by Vitya,” Mila teased, giggling.

Victor frowned at her. “You’re as bad as Chris.” He tried grasping at straws. “In all the family stories—her name is never mentioned, Alexei’s wife. Maybe it’s not Solange? Maybe Queen Elsa’s great-great-grand-daughter ran off with some other Alexei Nikiforov?”

The rest of his listeners did not look convinced.

Georgi was frowning. “At the end, did he say—”

“That the castle was supposed to be haunted? Yeah, I heard that, too.” Phichit beamed, excited. “Wouldn’t it be great to see a ghost while we were here? I could try for a selfie!”

“Does ectoplasm even photograph?” Yuuri wondered, while Katya, less well-acquainted with Phichit than the rest of them, stared at the Thai skater.

“You _want_ to take a photo of a ghost?” 

“Sure! ‘Ghost Hunters’ and programs like that, they’re always looking for photographic evidence. This is going to be seriously cool.”

Katya still looked doubtful; Georgi put his arm around her waist. “I’ll protect you, _lyubov moya_. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Katya said, without pushing his arm away. “Just—I’ve never stayed in a place that was supposed to be haunted before.”

“I haven’t, either,” Mila agreed. “I wonder who the ghosts are supposed to be. That reminds me—Katya? In your history books, who did Queen Elsa marry?”

“He was a Russian prince,” Katya said. “A very distant cousin of the Tsar at that time—I don’t remember his name, but I can look it up again later.”

“Maybe he’s one of the ghosts,” Mila mused. “Or maybe Queen Elsa is. That could be fun.”

“You just want to ask her about that dress,” Katya teased, sounding a little less apprehensive now about the prospect of ghostly encounters.

“Don’t they say most ghosts appear in a place where something mysterious or evil has happened?” Phichit asked. “Any stories about hidden crimes or tragedies in the castle?”

“Nothing in my books,” Katya answered.

“Maybe… the castle ghosts haunt from nostalgia?” Mila ventured, after a moment. “Because they miss this place?”

“Whatever. As long as they don’t disturb my sleep,” Yurio grumbled.

“We’ll consult about it in the morning,” Victor proposed. “Everyone can report blood-curdling screams or clanking chains.” _Or people running around thrusting crowns at me._

Despite the anxiety, he found himself stifling a yawn. “For now, I think we all need a chance to rest. Did they say they would bring us dinner? I want a chance to wash before then.”

The others voiced similar desires, and the company began to disperse, picking up their luggage and going in search of their rooms.

Victor found himself in what appeared to be the master suite, a spacious bedroom with a matching pair of deeply padded armchairs, a beautifully crafted writing desk, and a lofty, canopied, four-poster bed, covered with a hand-embroidered quilt that was bordered with snowflakes.

“The view’s great,” Yuuri said from the window, where he had pulled aside the curtain. “You can see all the way down to the harbor. The sea air is beautifully clear.”

Victor moved over to stand beside him. “Do you think we could hear the gulls from here?”

“We’re probably too far away.” But Yuuri unlatched the window and opened it anyway. Turning, his eyes met Victor’s. “What are you thinking?”

“That it’s a very big bed. Yuuri—will you stay with me?”

“Were you thinking I should go?”

“No! _Bozhe moi_!” Victor exclaimed in horror, and reached out to pull his fiancé close. Yuuri returned the embrace, then leaned his head on Victor’s shoulder to ask.

“Then what’s bothering you?”

Victor shivered a little, the knot in his stomach making itself felt again just to remind him. “All of it. It didn’t sound very possible in Copenhagen, but those paintings of Queen Elsa, and her daughter, and then hearing about Mad Alexei . . . it seems too real, now. That minister—“

“Halvorsen.”

“Halvorsen. He keeps going on about how he’s sure they will eventually be able to prove everything. As if I truly wanted to be king here!”

“And you don’t?” There was the faintest note of amusement in Yuuri’s voice. Victor’s arms tightened around him.

“All I want is our life. With Makkachin, and skating, and _you_. Gold medals, maybe, but no gold crowns, and no castles with ghosts.”

“Ah. I wondered if the ghosts would come into it.” The amused note was still there.

“In Russia,” Victor said, in self-defense, “the ghosts all have very big teeth.”

Well, actually, that was Baba Yaga, a witch, not a ghost. He continued nonetheless, “And they want to make more ghosts.” 

_That_ was true enough; Victor remembered the stories of rusalka that the older boys would tell to terrorize the younger skaters, at night in the junior dorms. He relaxed his embrace just enough to draw back and meet Yuuri’s eyes. “It doesn’t bother you? The idea of ghosts haunting the castle—or even watching us here?”

“There are a lot of traditions at home,” Yuuri said easily, “about every place having its own special spirits that watch over things. And if there really are ghosts here, looking at us?”

His own arms tightened around Victor’s shoulders, and his voice grew low and suggestive: an Eros voice. “Then let’s give them something worth looking at!”

He nuzzled the side of his fiancé’s neck, then angled up to meet his lips. Victor continued the kiss with enthusiasm, letting himself be reassured.

Ghosts, crowns, legacies from mysterious, long-forgotten ancestors… what did they matter when he had his life and love beside him? 

“ _Da_ , my _zolotse_. Let’s.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To sleep, perchance to dream...

__

_Moonlight shone over Arendelle Castle, turning the towers and the surrounding fjord into silver. It flowed through windows with filmy curtains, and found tiny chinks in heavier shades pulled closed for the night. And especially on one side of the castle—the visitors’ apartments—the moon seemed to shine with particular strength._

_Chris lay on his back, arms outstretched, breathing slowly and peacefully. A smile crossed his sleeping face, as if at something pleasant._

_In the next room, Phichit—also smiling—lay on his chest, head turned on the pillow. Though as the moonbeams moved from one side of his room to the other, he stirred, one hand reaching out as though searching for something. The smile faded and his mouth drooped into a frown as he failed to find it._

_Mila turned the doorknob and held it, then stealthily opened the door. She looked up and down the hall, but saw nothing. The moon shone through an unshaded window along the passage as if to emphasize the emptiness of the space. Mila eased the door closed again and locked it, then leaned a chair against it as an additional barricade._

_Katya rose on one elbow, blinking in the darkness. She held her breath as she listened, but the sound did not resume. Beside her, Georgi turned a little and began to snore softly, an arm reaching out in his sleep and finding her waist. She snuggled back down, pulling the blankets up again, reassured by his presence despite the snoring._

_For a brief time, the moonlight had shone directly onto his pillow, and Yuri had covered his face with his hands. Now, he moved restlessly under the covers, scowling, though he did not wake up. His arms moved as if to push something unwanted away._

_On the other side of the adjoining door of their rooms, Otabek lay on his side. His breathing was deep and regular; his expression as stoic as it was during his waking hours._

_Victor slid back into bed, a troubled frown crossing his face as he pulled the covers up to his chest. A small, uneasy sound caught his attention and he looked at Yuuri, who was stirring in his sleep, a frown of his own creasing his forehead and wrinkling his brows. Victor thought about waking him—if Yuuri was having a bad dream then cuddling might do them both good—when Yuuri turned over and seemed to relax all at once._

_Victor peered more closely at him and recognized his expression: in the depths of profound slumber that would probably require a full brass band to rouse. Smiling a little, despite his own unease, he settled back, leaning on the pillows, and curling close to the warmth of his finally peaceful fiancé._

****

When Victor next opened his eyes, the sky was just beginning to show pale through the crack of draperies they had left open last night. For years he had been an early riser, partly due to a strict training schedule, and partly due to Makkachin. Back in Saint Petersburg, he would have been taking his dog for a walk by now, leaving Yuuri to sleep, as the one with the greatest need. (Whether in Hasetsu or St. Petersburg, his Yuuri was not a morning person.)

A light tap on the door roused him more fully. He slipped out of bed—taking care not to jostle Yuuri—and went to open the door, 

A tray was set neatly outside the door, so he picked it up and carried it inside. The contents looked promising: china mugs, a carafe of coffee, a teapot, a jug of hot water, a small covered wicker basket (warm to touch on the outside) lined inside with a white napkin and four flaky-looking brown rolls, a small cup of honey, another of butter, several slices of lemon, and a small card, which announced that breakfast for their party would be available in two hours downstairs in the hospitality suite.  


Victor generously decided to leave the coffee for Yuuri, and considered the tea, but there was no jam for it. Finally, he poured himself a mug of hot water, flavored it with honey and lemon, and settled onto the window seat to watch the sun rise. 

As the sky continued to lighten, he felt a pang of homesickness for Makkachin and St. Petersburg. With so much to organize for the ice show after the competitive season ended, there had barely been time to help Yuuri move in, much less discover St. Petersburg with his fiancé. Victor had looked forward to that: playing guide to Yuuri’s tourist, exploring small things as well as the famous sights, showing Yuuri his favorite bakery, Makkachin’s favorite park, walking along the river at twilight. And later, maybe, packing up Makkachin and all of them going to visit Yuuri’s family in Hasetsu… 

His stomach growled. He could just see the sun now, peeking through cloud cover. And it was definitely time for company. Victor helped himself to one of the rolls, which turned out to be gratifyingly crisp on the outside. Taking a mug from the tray, he filled it just over halfway with the fragrant coffee from the pot, and set it down on Yuuri’s bedside table. He remembered the American expressions that Yuuri and Phichit often traded with each other, and wondered if the contents of the mug would be as effective as an alarm. He poured himself a small amount of the coffee as well, and took a second roll.

There was a faint groan from Yuuri’s side of the bed, then a scrabbling noise as two hands reached out toward the nightstand. One found the mug and captured it by the handle, the other fumbled along the surface of the nightstand, searching for his glasses.

Victor found the sight adorable, and just barely refrained from reaching for his phone to take a photograph. A wave of affection made him grin. Arendelle-first-thing-in-the-morning-Yuuri seemed absolutely no different from St. Petersburg-first-thing-in-the-morning-Yuuri. That was reassuring. 

***

“Oh, this is _nice_ ,” Mila sighed, as she entered the hospitality suite, and Victor, following her in, had to agree.

Last night, dinner had been brought in and served in a small parlor of their guest apartments: pleasant but a little subdued. They had all been slightly overwhelmed by their situation and conversation had lagged.

This morning was a contrast.

The hospitality suite was a spacious room, with large windows, and draperies pulled to allow the full glory of the morning sun. Small flower centerpieces and brightly colored cloths covered the dining tables, and a huge sideboard displayed the full array of an Arendelle smorgasbord. It appeared that the cooks of Castle Arendelle were on fire to display their talents.

“Ah,” Chris commented, surveying the spread laid out before them, “a breakfast fit for a king!”

Victor just managed not to snarl at him.

One end of the sideboard held pots of rice porridge and barley porridge, with butter, sugar, and berries laid out alongside. Next to them were platters of thin, crepe-like pancakes, flanked by little glass jars of preserves and fruit syrups. Silver chafing dishes contained a variety of sausages, slices of ham, smoked fish, pate, scrambled and hard-boiled eggs, and grilled tomatoes. Bowls of fresh fruit and trays of rich breakfast pastries, glossy with icing and studded with frosted nuts and glazed fruit, occupied the other end of the sideboard. The company took plates and began to serve themselves, with one or two smiles and murmurs about the “off-season”.

“Speaking of the off-season, Chris,” Victor asked, remembering the night before, “where did you hear about Arendelle beer?”

“The Internet, _mon cher_ , where else? I went surfing in Copenhagen.”

“Is there Internet here?” Phichit asked. “I haven’t tried my laptop or phone since we arrived last night.”

“Minister Halvorsen said there was, within the capital,” Yuuri remembered. “Not that much outside the town.”

A brief silence fell as Victor and his companions savored their breakfast, but even allowing for their appetites, attempts at conversation… lapsed. Yuri scowled to himself as he cut up his pancakes; next to him, looking more stoic than usual, Otabek sipped unsweetened tea. Chris, Georgi, and Phichit seemed mostly unaffected, but both Mila and Katya—usually bubbly or at least cheerful in the morning—seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Yuuri, despite his earlier intake of caffeine, appeared preoccupied as well.

 _Haunted_. Victor didn’t say the word aloud, but looked curiously at the other skaters around the table, remembering his own far-from-restful night.

“So, did everyone sleep well? No rattling chains or blood-curdling screams?” He kept his voice casual and controlled.

“No apparitions,” Chris said, sounding equally composed. “Odd sort of dream, though.”

“Go on,” Victor prompted.

“There was a handsome man. Very handsome,” Chris added with appreciation. “Tall, blond, broad-shouldered. He was playing a lute and singing… to a _reindeer_!”

Victor tried to control his expression, but felt his lips twitch. Unfortunately, Chris knew him far too well and caught him out.

“Of course, I’ve dreamed about handsome men before—and some of them could probably sing. But about reindeer? Not so much.”

“’Not so much’?”

Chris shrugged, waved a hand as though conceding a point. “All right. Not ever.”

“I dreamed too,” Yuri announced abruptly, still frowning. “About a talking snowman.”

“A _yeti_?” Phichit asked.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “No, you idiot. A _snowman_. Like children make, with a carrot for a nose. Only it talked, and then it sang. About sunshine. Then it danced. Bizarre.” He scowled, then looked at the Kazakh skater. “Beka? Did you dream anything?”

“I thought I saw trolls,” the other replied, after a moment. “They turned into rocks and rolled on the ground. Or maybe the rocks turned into trolls. Strange, but not as strange as yours.” 

Mila tilted her head. “ _I_ thought I heard giggling. Like little girls giggle. Then I heard running feet and wondered if there were any children in the castle, so I went to the door and opened it. But there wasn’t anyone in the passage. It wasn’t scary,” she qualified. “The kids, whoever they were, sounded happy.”

“Not _fair_ , Baba!” Yuri complained. “You get happy children and _I_ get the creepy snowman!”

“Phichit?” Victor asked, continuing around the table.

“I dreamed of a place,” the Thai skater admitted. “A huge castle, maybe even bigger than this one, but all made of ice! There was a great hall, with a snowflake chandelier, and towers, and a balcony! It was _amazing_. But I didn’t have my phone,” he finished regretfully. “I could have taken the most awesome selfie . . .”

“I slept like a baby,” Georgi announced. “After we finally went to sleep.”

Katya flushed slightly. “Well, _I_ thought I might have heard someone crying, just for a moment. But it was very faint, and very far away.”

“Yuuri?” Victor turned to his lover, whose face was thoughtful, and a little uneasy.

“I dreamed about a place, too,” Yuuri began. “The harbor down there. First it was full of boats on the water, just like it is now.” He gestured toward the window.

“There was sun on the water, and the sky was blue. And then—it was like a blizzard came up. Everything was suddenly covered with snow. Even the sea water… it was frozen solid, and all the boats were trapped in the ice.” Yuuri shook his head slowly, as though still trying to make sense of the memory. “I grew up on an island—but I’ve never seen that before, no matter how cold the winter was.” He looked back at his lover. “What about you, Victor? What did you dream?”

“It’s—hard to describe.” Victor flushed as silence descended over the table, and his friends’ eyes all turned towards him. “I felt as though someone were watching me, but I couldn’t see them. And the room became so very, very cold—I even thought I saw icicles on the walls! But of course, nothing was there when I got out of bed. Except that I found the window open… there must have been a draught. That’s why it was so cold.”

He wasn’t ready to tell them the last part, not yet. That when he had come back from the window, he had tried to straighten out the elaborately embroidered snowflake quilt that had half-slipped onto the floor—and had touched a frosty layer of real snowflakes that had somehow formed all along the foot of the bed.

In the darkness of the night the discovery had been frightening. In the brightness of the morning sun, it seemed far less believable, as if he, like his companions, had simply been dreaming. 

He let silence fall as they put the breakfast dishes aside, and was agreeing with Mila that the pastries in Arendelle rivaled the very best pastries of Denmark, when Sigrid the maid entered, bearing a small silver tray.

“Sir?” She offered the tray to Victor. He picked up the engraved calling-card that was resting on it and read the name with interest.

“The Grand Duchess Vanessa Agathe of the House of Arendelle requests the honor of a morning call.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A member of House Arendelle provides some answers--which leads to still more questions from Victor and the gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again, after what we admit was a longer-than-intended hiatus. But it was a busy year for us both, and it took time for our schedules to align long enough to start this story up again. While we can't promise regularly scheduled updates, our goal is to finish before Frozen 2 arrives--and josses everything we've done!

_The Grand Duchess?_

Victor looked at the maid. “Is she waiting now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then please, let her come in.”

The Grand Duchess Vanessa Agathe was undeniably a Personage. Magnificently dressed, upswept cinnamon-colored hair lightly frosted with gray, leaning just a little on a gold-handled cane, with a large brocaded reticule dangling from the crook of her elbow, she made a majestic entrance into the breakfast room, and stopped unerringly in front of Victor. Victor made hasty introductions of the company, noticing that her keen blue eyes never left his face.

“Ah. Anton mentioned the resemblance was quite remarkable,” she announced without preamble when he had finished. “You are indeed the male image of Princess Sonia.”

“But I’ve never heard of her,” Victor protested desperately. Why did all these strangers keep insisting he was royalty? Even worse, that he was _their_ royalty! “And who are you, precisely? The card says you’re of the House of Arendelle—”

“I am descended from the family of Princess Anna.”

“And who was _she_? Everyone says these names as if I should know them, but I’ve never heard of any of these people!” Victor caught his breath, trying to pull self-control over his confusion. “Does this mean we’re related?”

“We are. It has been many generations, but we are, in a way, distant cousins.”

Victor exhaled, flooded with relief. There might still be a way out of this. “Then—I still don’t know who this Princess Anna was, Duchess—or should I say Grand Duchess? I mean—“

He floundered, unsure how to address _any_ duchess, let alone a grand one—but fortunately, the old lady chuckled.

“We are related,” she repeated. “You may call me Tante Vanessa, if you like. As for Princess Anna—come with me back to the portrait gallery, and I will show her to you.”

*** 

“And this,” Vanessa announced, “is Anna.”

The portrait was in another part of the gallery, where Minister Halvorsen had not taken them yesterday. A vivacious-looking young woman with red-brown hair was seated by a window, through which a glimpse of pale sky and blue ocean water could be seen. Her eyes and the shape of her face showed a strong resemblance to Elsa.

“Anna was Elsa’s younger sister,” Vanessa explained. “She married first. After Elsa had married, both families lived together in Arendelle castle for many years.

“There are other paintings,” she added. From her dangling reticule she produced an elaborately shaped golden key. “In the family gallery.”

The troupe followed her to the end of the public gallery, where she stopped by a door next to a colorful tapestry. “In here are the more private portraits of the royal family.”

“And you have a key?” Victor asked curiously.

“Of course. Anna was my ancestress. The portraits here are of her descendants, and of Elsa’s. They were not meant to be state exhibits.”

Vanessa unlocked the door, and they followed her in.

***

The first portrait was a surprise: not a painting but a photograph of the late king Sigmund (Victor had learned to recognize him by now), quite elderly, standing next to an airplane. 

“This gallery has been arranged to show our most modern rulers first,” Vanessa explained. 

“So time goes backward?” Victor asked.

“How else does one truly learn history?” The Grand Duchess proceeded further into the gallery. Behind her, Katya and Mila exchanged amused glances.

At first the walls were covered with what looked like candid photographs of teenagers posing with sports equipment or cars (the latter appearing as older and older models) then finally, framed smaller portraits, of what were presumably royal children, in Arendelle traditional dress.

“And this room,” Vanessa announced, “was for Elsa’s and Anna’s families.”

She turned to indicate a glass case, containing a series of sketches that seemed to have been made by children. “These are supposed to have been drawn by Princess Anna herself.”

The pictures showed a snowman with a wide smile and a bulky, carrot nose, with messages next to it in the Arendellean script that Victor still could not read. As he stepped further into the gallery, he heard a small noise—the kind a startled cat might make—from the back of the troupe, but he had no chance to investigate the source once he saw the portrait that dominated the first wall.

Queen Elsa and Princess Anna stood together, both of them dressed as for a state occasion, They were smiling—happily, as if they were welcoming the world—but their pose was both intimate and unusual. Not side-by-side, as some of the other portraits showing more than one royal subject, but back-to-back, as if they were protecting each other from any outside force.

“Now, who would this be?” Chris was asking, off to Victor’s left, an odd note in his voice. 

Victor turned, to see a portrait of a fair-haired man, startlingly good-looking, at the side of a... _reindeer_.

Before he could speak, there was another exclamation, and Phichit had moved forward, hand outstretched toward another painting. From a snowy landscape, a great castle arose, sparkling as if in the sunlight. And all, apparently, made of ice.

“That’s the place!” Phichit exclaimed. “The castle in my dream!”

“Dream?” The Grand Duchess raised her eyebrows.

“We all had some strange—experiences, last night,” Victor explained smoothly “but perhaps it was only due to suggestion. Minister Halvorsen said some of the townspeople claim the castle is haunted.”

He was expecting the Grand Duchess to repeat Halvorsen’s reassurance that the claim was pure fantasy, but instead her face became deeply thoughtful. The sharp old eyes studied his face, then moved on to the rest of them. “What else did you see? Or—dream?”

“You don’t sound surprised.” Yuuri said, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses, studying the old lady in his turn.

“When I was a young girl—not yet sixteen—I used to think I saw the princess Anna. She was in the great entry hall, underneath the picture of Saint Joan. Later I found in her diary that that was one of her favorite paintings.”

“Well,” Chris began, “One of these paintings looks surprisingly like my dream. Who is the handsome gentleman with the reindeer?”

“Chris,” Victor pleaded at this frontal assault.

An odd expression crossed the Grand Duchess’s face. “Would you mind telling me your name again, Mr. …?”

“Giacometti. Christophe Giacometti.”

“Ah.” Vanessa smiled. “No wonder he appeared to you, then. His name was Kristoff too. Kristoff _Bjorgman_.”

From the back of the assembled company a gruff young voice that Victor recognized as Yurio’s demanded, “What about the snowman? In the drawings in the case?”

“Anna and Elsa called him Olaf,” Vanessa began, when Mila broke in.

“Did they often play together, in the castle? Anna and Elsa?”

The Grand Duchess held up her cane, as if for silence. “Perhaps you should all tell me what you have dreamed. But _in turn_ , please.”

One by one, the skaters related their dreams (or in one case, the lack of them), as Vanessa listened, occasionally nodding to herself at the details. Even Victor, speaking last, found himself sharing more than his dream.

“I… didn’t say this before,” he confessed. “But after I had shut the window I tried to straighten up the quilt. And there was _frost_ on it, like snowflakes. But how could that be? What could make snow fall on a bed?”

From Vanessa’s account of her own youthful experience, he was expecting a reference to ghosts, but what she did say surprised him even more.

Still regarding him speculatively, she replied, “My dear Victor, it is entirely possible that _you_ did.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, some (invented) Arendelle future family history...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _Frozen_ Tale: spoilers for the movie. Is there anyone out there who has _not_ seen _Frozen_?

Victor stared at her, his throat suddenly dry and his tongue frozen solid in his mouth. He thought he could feel all the circuits in his brain shutting down, one by one. Every head was turning in his direction, and his cheeks began to burn, but he could not produce a  
sound. Even breathing… it was as if he’d forgotten how, but then Yuuri’s hand found his, gripped it— and suddenly he could inhale again. 

He clung to Yuuri’s hand for dear life, not caring who saw. The contact anchored him, eased the tremors threatening to wrack him from head to toe, although he still could not speak.

_Magic? I’m doing… magic?_

Katya finally broke the silence following Vanessa’s declaration.

“The powers—” she began tentatively.

The Grand Duchess studied her. “What have you heard, of the powers?”

“I have Arendellean history books. They talk about Queen Elsa…”

From somewhere, Victor finally found the ability to speak, and object. “But Minister Halvorson said they were only legends.”

“Anton said that?” Vanessa inquired.

“Yes, he mentioned there were many legends about Queen Elsa.”

“Tsk.” Vanessa clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Old Anton and his ‘legends.’ It was no such thing. Elsa’s powers were real--and they were magic. Her powers gave us the Two Truths of Arendelle—“

She stopped when she saw the puzzled looks on the skaters’ faces, even Katya’s, then sighed.

“I shall need to tell you the whole story. But not here. Come, I know a place where we can speak more easily.”

The troupe followed her out of the private gallery, and into a large sitting room that looked unexpectedly comfortable.

“This was Anna’s parlor,” Vanessa explained, “while she and her family still kept quarters in the palace.”

The grand duchess sank onto a brocaded armchair, as if assuming a throne; the skaters gathered in the other chairs and sofas, making a circle around her.

“Now, then,” Vanessa began, when they were all seated and listening. “Before I answer the rest of your questions I think it’s best if I tell you the whole tale.

“Elsa was born with the powers to create ice and snow. If she wished, all she had to do was even touch something, and it would become covered with ice. Anna—could not do anything of the kind. Their parents kept them apart for many years, concealing Elsa’s magic until she had some control, but they died in a sea voyage when Elsa was eighteen and Anna three years younger. Elsa managed to hide her powers until she was twenty-one—not even Anna knew of them. Then, on the very day of the coronation, they quarreled, and Elsa’s magic was revealed in the Great Storm.“

“‘The Great Storm,’” Yuuri repeated, his face thoughtful. 

Vanessa met his eyes and nodded. “Yes. It covered the town with ice and snow, and froze the ships in the harbor.”

“Like my dream.”

“Exactly. In fear of her own power, Elsa ran away to the North Mountain, and raised a castle, all of ice.” She glanced at Phichit. “The castle from the painting, and in your dream. Anna came to look for her, for Elsa was still the rightful queen. At first, Elsa was too fearful, and tried to send Anna away again—but at last, they remembered that they loved each other, as sisters do, and it was through Anna’s actions that Elsa discovered the way to end the Storm. Afterward, Elsa resumed her rule as Queen, and used her powers openly, to benefit the kingdom.

“Anna married a man who had helped her during the Great Storm—the ice cutter, Kristoff Bjorgman. Elsa rewarded him with lands and a title, so he would be considered suitable by all, although she and Anna always claimed that he had already proven his worth, many times over.”

“Kristoff,” Chris repeated, and the grand duchess smiled.

“Yes. As they say in magic, like calls to like.”

Mila giggled. Yuri was scowling.

“What about the snowman?” he demanded. “I saw the pictures in the glass case. What was _he_ doing in my dream?”

“His name was Olaf. Perhaps he can best be described as a kind of... mascot? It was said that he was brought to life by Elsa’s ice powers. She and Anna both wrote in their journals that Olaf was very fond of children,” the Grand Duchess added, smiling benignly.

Yuri looked as if he would explode; Otabek, his face still stoic, diplomatically but lightly stepped on his foot.

Mila recovered from her giggles and tilted her head. “Grand Duchess, who was Queen Elsa’s husband?”

“He was a minor Russian prince. The third son of a fifth son, well away from the tsar. A very good man, he was called Dmitri the Virtuous. Elsa said she already loved him as a friend before the wedding, and fell in love with him after it.”

“What about Elsa’s children?” Victor asked, remembering what both Vanessa and Halvorsen had said. “Did they have the magical powers?”

“They did. All four of them. Because of Elsa and her children, our house has the Two Truths of Arendelle.”

“And what are those?” Victor asked. “Minister Halvorson did not mention them.”

Vanessa tsked again. “Of course he would not. But many—not only myself—still remember them. The first truth is this: _The Powers breed true._ All of Elsa’s children had her ice powers. And the second truth of our House is this: _The land knows its own._ If a member of the royal family had been born outside of Arendelle, it was said, the powers might manifest once they had returned to Arendelle. Elsa’s oldest daughter Annika, married into the royal house of Corona: when her daughter—Elsa’s granddaughter—came here as a young girl, on a visit of state, at first, she seemed quite typical, but by the end of her visit she showed that she, too, had Elsa’s magic."

The Grand Duchess paused briefly. “So you, Victor, as Sonia’s descendant, just possibly might show ice powers, the longer you remain in Arendelle. Of all Elsa’s children, her powers were the strongest.”

Another silence fell.

Victor found himself tongue-tied once more; gratefully, he heard Yuuri speak. “About Princess Sonia—why did she run away?”

“What did Anton tell you?”

“That she wanted to marry a man Elsa didn’t approve of. What was so wrong? Was he a … a fortune hunter?”

The Grand Duchess shook her head. “To Elsa, it was worse than that. Young Nicolas was handsome and polite, but he was the second son of the eighth son of the royal house of the Southern Isles. Elsa wished nothing to do with that kingdom, or with that family. But Sonia, having met him, fell instantly in love, and swore she would marry him and no one else.”

She paused again. “Anna—was not so much set against Nicolas. She and Elsa disagreed about this for a time. Elsa would have forbidden Sonia to see him at all; Anna thought the two of them should be permitted to become better acquainted, to see if Nicolas could be proved to be a fortune hunter, or if it really was true love. In the end, it was Elsa’s wishes—as queen—that were upheld.

“And so they ran away together. It was a great scandal, of course. In the midst of the search for them, Dmitri fell ill—some said it was from grief—and did not recover for many months. By then they had disappeared. Elsa was unable to find where they had gone.”

“But someone else knew,” Victor said, noticing Vanessa’s choice of words. “Was it Anna?”

The Grand Duchess shook her head. “Anna would never have kept that knowledge from Elsa. But Anna’s youngest daughter Johanna was Sonia’s greatest friend. After a time, Sonia wrote to her, but Johanna carefully kept those letters a secret."

“Was that how Minister Halvorsen began looking for Sonia’s descendants?”

Vanessa nodded. “There was one particular letter that was found: some years after her twins were born, Sonia wrote to Johanna, saying someone had tried to abduct her, and she thought they had been agents of Weselton.”

“Weselton?” Victor exclaimed. “Another place I’ve never heard of!”

“It doesn’t exist any more. Its royal line died out—the last descendant was a great-niece of the old duke. She married the crown prince of Corona, and the duchy was annexed into that kingdom.

“The old duke had known of Elsa’s powers, and had tried to use that to his own advantage against Arendelle. Sonia had heard this all her life--that was why she and Nicolas had intended to take their daughters and flee again, into Russia. A big enough country to disappear in, she said, in her letter to Johanna.”

“And they did disappear,” Victor remembered. “Until Alexei the Madman.”

He winced inwardly, then a previous thought returned to him.

“Tante Vanessa,” he began, “do you have children?”

“Three: two girls and a boy. They’re grown, now, but one is still away at school.”

Before Victor could advance on his thought, Vanessa had turned away, rummaging in her large brocaded bag.

“A gift for you,” she announced, drawing out four small, leather-bound books. “My cousin—our cousin, Sigmund—“

“ _King_ Sigmund?” Victor asked, and she nodded.

“Was a student of linguistics, and translation was one of his hobbies. Elsa kept a journal after she was married. It was her husband’s idea, so that their children could read it, and learn from it, how to use their powers.” Vanessa patted two of the books. “The blue ones are the translations that Sigmund made.”

Victor looked at the two red books and made a guess. “Did Anna keep a journal too?”

“She did. And you are right, these red ones are hers. Anna wrote about all she had learned from living with Elsa and her magic."

"Anna wrote about magic? Then--did she have powers, in the end?"

Vanessa shook her head. "The powers were less common in Anna’s line. Neither she nor her children showed any ability for magic, but Anna's granddaughter, Johanna's youngest child, did have the ice powers."

"Did Elsa know?" Victor asked.

"Not by then. But there were others who also helped.” Vanessa fell silent, as if reluctant to elaborate.

“Others who were not human?” Otabek spoke at last, surprising them all.

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

“Others who were magical. I was the one who dreamed about trolls.”

“Trolls,” Vanessa repeated. She looked as if she were about to say more, but then they all heard the approaching footsteps.

“Grand Duchess, good day.” Minister Halvorsen appeared, followed by the maid Sigrid.

She nodded to him regally. “Good morning, Anton.”

“And good morning to you as well, Mr. Nikiforov.” The minister turned to address the rest of the company. “As we discussed last night, I have found a guide to escort you into the old town to help find your relatives, Ms .--?”

His eyes found Katya.

“Ivanova,” Katya said. “Thank you, Minister Halvorsen.”

“And I believe Mr. Giacometti was interested in a tour of some of our local taverns. Both guides will be here at the castle within the hour. If you would care to follow Sigrid, she will show you where you may wait for them.”

As the troupe rose and prepared to separate, Halvorsen approached Victor.

“Mr. Nikiforov, if you could spare me a moment? I have some news from our inquiry agents that may concern you.”

“I…” Victor was not sure what to say, but support came from an unexpected quarter.

“Shall I join you, Anton?” Vanessa inquired, suddenly resuming her grand formal manner. “As a representative of House Arendelle I believe I am entitled to do so.”

“I—well, of course, you are welcome, Grand Duchess.” If the minister had been surprised, he recovered quickly.

“Shall I take these?” Yuuri murmured to Vanessa, and she gave him the journals.

“Put them aside for safe-keeping,” she advised, and he nodded. His eyes met Victor’s in an unspoken message: he would start reading the journals himself, searching for anything that might help Victor out of his predicament. Victor breathed a small sigh of relief, then turned back attentively to the two Arendellans as Yuuri slipped away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Victor just doesn't want to be king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fictitious Arendellean history.

“So, this is good news!” Minister Halvorsen announced cheerfully, once he, Victor, and Vanessa were alone in the parlor. “In a small church, just inside the Russian-Latvian border, our inquiry agents believe they have found a signed marriage certificate.”

“Between whom, may I ask?” Vanessa said, adding as an aside to Victor, “if you will pardon my question.”

Halvorsen raised his eyebrows but answered. “The names listed are that of La Princesse Solange Le Blanc... and Alexei Nikiforov.”

 _Mad Alexei, again_. Victor winced inwardly and flushed as he felt the Grand Duchess’s eyes on him. 

“And this is your connection?” she asked.

Victor nodded, still feeling the burn across his cheekbones. “I’m afraid so. If this is truly the man of my family—it was supposed to have been an elopement. Or so the story was always told to me, but no one ever said she was a princess!”

“That part of her identity was being kept a secret,” Halvorsen said. Vanessa looked thoughtful.

“And no one ever said she had... powers over ice?” Victor added carefully.

“Those tales are nothing but myths,” Halvorsen said tersely, frowning—not at Victor, but at Vanessa, who met his eyes unperturbed. 

“You may say what you like, Anton, but in the House of Arendelle we know the truth. Elsa had powers—“

“I am _not_ ,” the minister’s voice sounded strained, “going to debate this with you, Grand Duchess. Again.”

As he turned away with a mildly exasperated huff, Victor saw Vanessa’s amused—almost fond—expression, and realized the two Arendelleans must be long-acquainted, and possibly even friends. The discovery distracted him, and he almost missed the beginning of Halvorsen’s next statement. 

“We will still need to verify the handwriting in the signatures. There are some letters and personal papers left behind by Solange when she eloped from her school, but for Alexei Nikiforov—” Halvorsen looked at Viktor, who shrugged apologetically.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know about any documents he would have left behind, or who he could have written to. Remember he was considered the family disgrace. Even his own children were taught not to consider him respectable—they were mostly brought up by aunts and uncles.”

“Then it may take some time,” Halvorsen said, but resumed with a note of reassurance. “Do not be disappointed, Mr. Nikiforov. Our agents are very competent and I’m sure they shall eventually find enough evidence to prove your heritage.”

“But what if this claim you speak of cannot be proved?” Victor felt the urge to play devil’s advocate. “Couldn’t the Council of Ministers simply become the government?”

“That would be a most drastic step,” Halvorsen replied. “The Council’s charter does not give us that power. A new charter—or even a new constitution—would have to be written. And more—“ he paused.

“The people of Arendelle have the highest regard for the royal house. The belief is that the kingdom prospers most when a ruler from the direct line is on the throne.”

Victor felt confused by this assertion. “How does anyone know this? You said Queen Elsa had so many children—was there ever a time when the royal family did not hold the throne?”

It was Vanessa who answered. “During the war—the true line went into hiding when the Nazis invaded. A figurehead government was set up. There was no connection through descent to Elsa, or to Anna. And within a year,” she shrugged, “the economy plunged. Suddenly, it seemed Arendelle was a poor country of few resources and no prosperity. The Germans left—and the Russian army that followed them found no profit even in holding the territory.”

“And once they were gone?” 

“The royal house was restored: Queen Elsa the Second. As an unknown young woman, she played some part in the Danish Resistance. It was during her reign that our economy flourished enough to build the national airport. The late King Sigmund was her successor.”

The minister’s face was grave. “That has been the greatest public works achievement in Arendelle for the better part of a century. We need every advantage we can provide at this time—our economy has been weakening. Without economic stability, our national autonomy may be at stake—we could be absorbed by some neighboring country, just as the Southern Isles were. Our people—all Arendelle—do not want to lose our national identity. We need a descendant of Queen Elsa to keep us from that loss.”

_Back where they had started..._

“Minister Halvorsen,” Victor began. He had thought a long time about this speech, noticing in his previous conversations with the minister, the man had not seemed willing to believe him. If he could make this declaration with Vanessa as his witness, as a member of Arendelle’s royal house, perhaps he could establish the credibility of what he wished them all to understand. 

“Minister,” he repeated, and felt Halvorsen’s and Vanessa’s attentive eyes on him. “I am a professional athlete. I have competed successfully against many others, and traveled to many countries. I have never thought of myself as—or wanted to be—a king. I do not believe this is a… position I am capable of filling.”

To his surprise, neither Halvorsen nor Vanessa exclaimed or protested, but ensuing silence was not reassuring. Victor felt sweat prickling at the back of his neck as he wondered how they could escape from Arendelle if he was somehow forcibly installed as king. Climb out the castle windows at night? Cross the border and ask for sanctuary from the nearest Russian embassy? Was it even possible to escape a haunted castle?

“My dear Victor,” Vanessa said dryly. “There is no need for melodrama, I assure you. We are neither criminals nor barbarians. No one here will kidnap you, or compel you to do anything you do not wish.” Her eyes met Halvorsen’s, who nodded. “But perhaps you could consider this as… we are asking for your help.” 

As her steady blue eyes turned to Victor’s, the earlier thought that had been bubbling vaguely in his mind finally surfaced. He took a slow breath, centering himself.

“Tante Vanessa,” Victor began carefully, “you are descended from the princess Anna, and you already have three grown children. Why shouldn’t you inherit the crown? Surely, you and your children would be far more suitable than I. And… if anyone already has the ice powers, wouldn’t it be more likely to be among _your_ family?”

The Grand Duchess shook her head. “As Anton told you, there is a belief that the country is most prosperous when a direct descendant of Elsa is on the throne. And we are in sore need of prosperity. As much as it would solve so many difficulties, I do not believe I am the one who is most needed. And lastly, my dear Victor, I have not the power to freeze so much as an ice cube.”

She held up a regal hand as Victor attempted to protest. “Remember, the powers were less common in Anna’s line. I am Anna’s descendant, but like Anna herself, I have never shown any sign of Elsa’s magic. But you, Victor, on the other hand, still might—and it would certainly be proof of your royal identity!”

“Vanessa,” Halvorsen reproved, with a surprising lack of formality (Victor decided he had been right about their friendship), “That’s enough.”

He turned back to Victor. “Do not worry, Mr. Nikiforov. No one will require you to perform any magic to establish your claim to the throne. And as the Grand Duchess says, no one will use force or coerce you. But... if you will give our words your due consideration, we would be deeply grateful.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More unsettling news--and an uncomfortable reminder...

“So I said I would help them if I could,” Victor confessed to Yuuri, as they sat together on the sofa of the master suite's parlor. “I didn’t know how to say no, and it seemed only polite.”

Yuuri nodded acknowledgment. “But?” he prompted, at Victor’s expression.

“But—Yuuri, I have no idea what I could even do! There is nothing for which I could give advice, I don’t know anything about living here! It would be even worse if I were actually supposed to act as the King!”

His lover frowned in thought. “But won’t the council and ministers be there to advise you, if you have to act as the king?”

“But that also means they could rule the kingdom just as well without me!” Victor pointed out. He paused, took a long breath. “At least I knew I was prepared to be a coach.”

The silence after his words took on an odd, strained quality. Victor glanced at Yuuri, who had covered his face with one hand; his shoulders seemed to be… shaking?

“Victor,” he said, in a voice that was both warm and somehow full of suppressed laughter. “Victor, you were the worst coach in the history of coaching!”

Victor felt his jaw drop, and he stared at his fiancé, more than slightly wounded. Before he could protest, Yuuri relented, the warmth still in his voice.

“But you were the coach _I_ needed. To believe in me, before I learned to believe in myself.” He punctuated his amendment with a light kiss, that deepened as Victor reached out and pulled him closer, until they were cuddling contentedly on one end of the sofa, basking in each other’s warmth.

Soothed and reassured, Victor sighed in contentment which gave way to curiosity.

"What about your afternoon, _zolotse_? How did it go reading Queen Elsa's journals?"

"Very interesting. Just as Vanessa said, while she was still a child, Elsa spent many years hiding her magic. She wrote that for years, she wore gloves almost constantly, because if she lacked control when she held things, they would become covered in frost. Even at her coronation, she said, when she held the Orb and Scepter, they were becoming icy and almost gave her away--oh!" Yuuri jerked upright, glancing about the parlor. "There was something else I noticed--damn, I must've left it in the bedroom."

He rose, stretching a little. "There was something I wanted to show you--let me go and get it, be right back."

The room felt too quiet without Yuuri in it. Victor stood restlessly, pacing a little, and stopped before the fireplace.

Power. Cold.

On the mantel was a bowl of decorative artificial fruit. Victor selected a silver apple, tried to imagine how Elsa would have held the Orb.

_Cold. Become cold. Freeze for me—become covered with ice._

He stared intently down at the apple again, willing the icy mist to come, for frost to cover the shiny, reflective surface.

_Cold. Get cold!_

Nothing happened.

_Freeze, damn it!_

_Become cold!_

Still nothing happened. He closed his eyes, tried to empty his mind, fix his thoughts only on the image of falling snow, heaping in great piles of white. Great mountains of ice . . .

_COLD!!!_

He opened his eyes. The apple looked unchanged—and unfrozen. Did it even feel a little colder? He couldn’t tell.

“Vitya?” Yuuri had come back, holding one of Elsa’s journals. “Are you all right?”

“Here.” He handed Yuuri the apple. “I was just—“

He felt too silly to confess to it, but, “Does it feel cold to you, at all?”

Yuuri frowned, studying the apple. “It’s warm, and your fingerprints are on it. Why?”

Victor didn’t know if he was more frustrated or relieved. He hadn’t frozen the apple—but what if he had succeeded? More evidence of a claim he truly did not want?

A little embarrassed at what he had been trying to do, he took the apple back, replaced it in the bowl, and plunged into an over-emphatic denial.

“‘The powers breed true’,” Victor quoted. “That should let me out. After all, I cannot wave a hand and make it snow!”

He focused again on Yuuri. “What was it in the journal you wanted me to see?”

To Victor’s surprise, Yuuri did not answer right away. He was frowning thoughtfully, turning over the pages of Queen Elsa’s journal. His expression began to make Victor uneasy.

“Yuuri?” Victor raised his voice slightly. “I know that face—if we were on the ice you would be flubbing all your jumps. What are you thinking?”

Yuuri continued to look abstracted, as if his attention were far away, or his glasses simply off-center. “Queen Elsa wrote that at first, her powers would become uncontrolled if she were excited, or surprised, or afraid.”

“Yes?” Victor agreed, a little impatiently, when Yuuri did not continue.

“Victor, do you remember the first day you came to Hasetsu? Were you excited?”

“Of course I was! I was going to see you, I thought you remembered the banquet—” They had revisited that first encounter so many times now . . .

“It was _April_." Yuuri emphasized the month. “I slept late but when my mom woke me up she was telling me to help shovel the snow because there had been an out-of-season storm...”

Victor’s eyes widened as the words sank in.

“ _Blyad_ ,” he said as he remembered his arrival that first day. Trying not to slip on the icy walkway, seeing Makkachin leaping through the snow. Panic took hold.

“No, no, Yuuuuuriiii! Tell me you’re joking!”

“We were both there. And you were definitely excited. Maybe a little nervous?”

Despite all the confidence he had shown, standing up easily in the onsen… 

" _Bozhe moi_ … wait, wait, Yuuri! It can't be--it’s never happened since." Victor thought back frantically. All their Grand Prix competitions--during the winter, and even then, rinks were indoors. How would they have known? Would they even have noticed, at Rostelecom or Helsinki?

"Nothing happened at Barcelona," he said aloud. "We… I… had strong emotions there, but it didn't snow. It must be just a coincidence, Yuuri!"

"Mmm. You could be right," Yuuri agreed at last, but Victor had the uncomfortable feeling that his fiancé was humoring him.

Slamming doors and cheerful raised voices alerted them to the return of the troupe from their excursions into the Old Town. 

“They’re back!” Yuuri announced, smiling. Victor thankfully put the journals aside, and followed him out into the corridor, where they encountered the maid Sigrid.

“Sir?” She dipped Victor a slight curtsy, and he paused.

“Yes?” 

“The kitchen says dinner will be served within the hour, if you and the other guests can assemble in the hospitality suite?”

“Of course,” Victor answered. He continued down to the entry hall, where the troupe had gathered, all of them chattering and more than a little boisterous, and relayed Sigrid’s message. Nothing loath, the skaters shed outerwear to go in search of sustenance.

Dinner was almost as splendid as breakfast. A delicious creamy fish soup started off the courses, which included more fish—both fresh and smoked, savory meatballs in a rich, spicy gravy, and roast lamb.

“I’m relieved that it isn’t reindeer,” Chris murmured, helping himself to the last. “Or even elk.”

“Katya?” Victor began, as he reached for a dinner roll, still hot enough to melt the butter. “How was your afternoon? Did they find your family?”

“We found them!” she replied with a glowing smile. “And the visit was wonderful! I heard all kinds of things about Babushka and her family that I never knew before!”

“They didn’t speak much Russian, though,” Georgi said. “Mostly Arendellean—I couldn’t follow it. But one interesting thing,” he added, grinning, “down in the middle of the Old Town, there’s a rink.”

“Indoors or outdoors?” Victor asked.

“Indoors. Big building, a little old. But guess what was in the window?”

Victor shrugged, but Yuuri broke into a grin of his own. “Do you mean—?”

“All of us, large as life: ‘Victor And Friends’—the poster with the Copenhagen dates!”

Victor joined in the chuckles, then looked at Chris. “And how was the microbrew?”

“ _Magnifique, mon ami_.” The Swiss skater kissed his fingers in an elegant gesture of approval. “As impressive as promised—someone must find a way to manufacture it for export. Almost a crime, to keep something so good off the market.”

“And what about your afternoon, Victor?” Mila asked. “What was that special news from that minister?”

“They might have found Mad Alexei’s marriage license,” Victor began. He found himself continuing, up to Halvorsen’s and Vanessa’s talk about the link between Elsa’s inheritance and the kingdom’s prosperity.

A surprising silence fell when he had finished speaking. He had half-expected the others to laugh at him, but instead there were solemn faces all around the table.

Katya’s voice was more subdued now. “When my cousins were talking—they mentioned the search for a new king. They’re saying—all Arendelle is watching and waiting to find Queen Elsa’s heirs. They think it will bring good fortune back to Arendelle.”

“They’re saying the same things in the taverns,” Chris said. “We took in the local gossip along with the microbrew. And… there was more to consider when we walked through the New Town.”

His face was as serious as Victor had ever seen it. He remembered that Josef had made Chris take online business courses during the off-season.

“What was the matter?” he asked cautiously. “Did you see something that bothered you?”

“It was what we didn’t see,” Phichit explained. 

Chris resumed, “There’s one major store chain: Oaken’s. We saw only a few ships in the harbor, so there’s very little trading by sea. There should have been some signs of warehouses, or factories, or some kind of international trade center. What did Minister Halvorsen say? That their economy was weak. And Vanessa told you the same. They need money.”

“If we put on a show for them,” Victor began, thinking of benefit shows and fund-raising.

“One show? It would not be enough. A month, or even a year of shows—it’s not going to be enough. There has to be a way to permanently increase their trade—“

“GNP,” Phichit agreed. He and Yuuri exchanged a pained look, having suffered through the same required undergraduate economics classes. “Didn’t think I’d ever have to use _that_ term again.”

“Then, how to solve this--?

“A salable product— _products_ ,” Yuuri corrected himself, “that can be exported. The beer might be one example--”

“Maybe the breakfast pastries?” Mila offered with a smile.

“Maybe. But more than that---something else to make people come from outside Arendelle, to bring money in?”

“Tourism, usually,” Phichit said, from experience. Yuuri nodded agreement.

Victor rubbed his temples. “And this is why I should never be a king! I couldn’t have thought of any of this!”

“It’s not impossible to learn,” Yuuri said reassuringly. 

Victor looked at him with imploring eyes. “Just tell me I would never have to be alone, Yuuri. And then _please_ , can we talk about something else?”

“The ministers would help, I’m sure. And we could send for Makkachin,” Yuuri said, deadpan.

“Yuuuuuuriiii!” Victor moaned, unsure if his fiancé was serious. 

Yuuri laughed, reached for his hand, and lightly kissed the ring on his finger. Victor relaxed, smiling his relief.

“We can all sleep on it,” Chris proposed. “Who knows? Perhaps the ghosts could be persuaded to give us other ideas!”

Victor bent a stern gaze upon him. “I’ll hold you to that,” he warned.

Privately he thought that if one of Arendelle’s ghosts did whisper advice in his ear about how to become a king—or better yet, _avoid_ becoming a king—he would be more than happy to listen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another round of dreams, and an attempt at ghost-busting.

_He was alone. Was he asleep? He wasn’t sure. Moonlight shone dimly through the windows, the room was filled with snow, and icicles were suspended from the ceiling._

_“They were right.”_

_A woman stood gazing at him. Oddly familiar, though for a moment he couldn’t think why. Then he recognized her and his breath stopped._

_She looked younger than the state portrait, but the blue eyes and the pale hair were the same. Both resembling his own—despite all his waking efforts he could not deny it here._

_“They were saying—you look like my Sonia.”_

_The name triggered his voice at last. “Are you Queen Elsa?”_

_“Queen?” She smiled a little wistfully. “I don’t know if that matters now. But—I am Elsa.”_

_Victor found his throat dry. “Are you a dream? A ghost?”_

_“I—don’t think I know that either. All I do know is that I am Elsa. And I have been sent here to help Arendelle.” Blue eyes, in his own image, stared into his intently. “Will you not help Arendelle as well?”_

_Before Victor could answer, she faded and was gone._

*** 

There was uneasy silence around the breakfast table the next morning.

“Were there any more dreams?” Victor asked, studying the company. Across the table Yuri was looking paler than usual, and distinctly tired.

“More snowmen,” he complained, at Victor’s inquiring look. “This time, a giant, grumpy one! Even creepier than the first night. I thought it was chasing me.”

“I thought I heard wolves howling,” Otabek said, next to Yuri. “Then I _knew_ they were chasing _me_.”

“Lots of little snowmen,” Phichit said, grinning. “No higher than my knee. All lined up in the ice palace as if they wanted a selfie!”

“And did you dream of Kristoff again?” Victor asked Chris.

Chris smiled in response. “I think perhaps I did. In the outer courtyard—it was all covered with ice. Rather charming—it looked as if everyone in the town was skating. And there he was, with the reindeer again—but I was relieved to see no one had put skates on the reindeer.”

Phichit looked at his former roommate. “What about you, Yuuri?”

“I was running through a blizzard,” Yuuri said. “I think the one Vanessa called the Great Storm. I felt I was looking for someone and had to warn them of danger. The same sort of dream, for the second time—I wonder what that means?”

“I heard dance music,” said Katya, when Victor looked at her. “And there was a huge cake and the smell of chocolate.”

“A good omen,” Georgi exclaimed. “Perhaps it was our wedding cake!”

“Why do the girls get all the good dreams?” Yuri grumbled.

“Mila?” Victor prompted, when she didn’t respond. Her face was very thoughtful.

“I … think I dreamed about Princess Anna,” she confessed. “At least, the woman I saw looked just like her portrait.”

“What was she doing?” Yuuri asked, when Mila did not continue.

“She was getting on a horse—and she was very determined. She kept saying—she was going to go look for someone, she _had_ to find them. But I never heard the name of whom she was looking for.” Mila paused. “Why would she appear to _me_?”

“Maybe from one redhead to another?” Chris teased lightly. He looked across the table. “Well, Victor? Were your dreams haunted?”

“There was snow,” Victor began carefully. “So much snow—but something wrong about it. As if it wasn’t right for it to be there. Everything was dark and quiet; I heard a voice. I don’t really know whose.”

He felt Yuuri’s eyes on him, but shook his head briefly when their gazes met, and hoped that Yuuri wouldn’t guess what he was hiding. No one else in the troupe had been directly spoken to, in their dreams. He wasn’t lying exactly: he hadn’t _recognized_ the voice, but he had understood what was being said—and who had said it. But revealing to them all that Elsa herself was speaking to him… wouldn’t _weaken_ the connection to Arendelle’s crown.

“What do you think is causing the dreams?” Mila wondered. “Are the ghosts meant to tell us something?”

“Let’s find out--we should go on a ghost hunt!” Phichit announced, as Sigrid was clearing away the breakfast dishes.

The rest of the troupe stared at him, but he persisted, undaunted by their expressions.

“Why not? See if we can find traces of all these specters we keep finding in our dreams? Maybe it’s our collective subconscious—or maybe someone really is trying to tell us something.” His voice lowered. “Or maybe just wants to make it seem that way?”

“But why would they do that?” Yuuri asked. 

His former roommate shrugged. “Don’t know—but if we find them, we can ask them!”

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Victor muttered. He hurried to catch up as Phichit plunged toward the door, phone held at the ready. Sigrid stared after them, the kitchen tray of stacked dishes still in her hands but forgotten as Phichit began to tap on walls, examine windowsills and picture frames, and the other skaters copied him.

They searched their own bedroom suites first, then moved out of the guest wing into the areas of the castle open to public tours: the great entry hall (Yurio had to be persuaded not to open a suit of armor there), the throne room, the council chamber, the state dining room, the grand ballroom, the solarium, the music room, and the picture gallery. Victor looked thoughtfully at Elsa’s state portrait again, then at the painting labeled _Saint Joan_ , and remembered what Vanessa had said about her teenage self seeing the Princess Anna there. But neither royal sister made an appearance now.

Three and a half-hours later it had become quite clear that Arendelle Castle was deficient in treacherous trap doors, spectral secret passages, hidden staircases, dank and moldy dungeons, and any ectoplasmic evidence of ghosts. 

“A little disappointing, perhaps,” Victor remarked to Phichit but the Thai skater was not in the least crestfallen.

“Okay, no ghosts—but no suspicious tech, either! No hidden projectors or microphones, no secret cameras, no booby-traps—“

A startled yelp interrupted him. 

“Look! Look!” Mila was pointing, her eyes wide, her face pale against her flaming hair.

They had left the door to the hospitality suite open when they had left after breakfast. Now across its threshold, lay a smooth, gleaming layer of fresh snow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost hunt comes to a chilling halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After an unexpected hiatus caused by a mouse infestation, we're back! The Frozen 2 trailer dropping last week seems to have inspired us.

Otabek was closest to the hospitality suite. He approached the threshold, eyes intent on the snow.

“There are no footprints,” he reported, then looked up. “The ceiling here is solid, no windows or skylights.”

Victor took a long, careful breath as they all stared. “At least this time, I know I could not have caused this.”

“No,” Yuuri agreed quietly. 

Phichit looked between the two of them, then back at the snow, stepping closer with his phone in hand to snap a picture.

“Let’s look and see if there’s more anywhere else!” he suggested, and the skaters scattered around the corridor.  
“Over here!” Chris called out. “Does this look like frost at the bottom of the window?”

Victor touched the area he had pointed at. “The glass feels a little cold—but it could be frost, or mist, or even just a little dirt?”

“Maybe we should go back and check the bedrooms,” Yuuri said.

The troupe drifted toward their suites, eyeing windows and floors along the way.

Inside the master bedroom, Victor ran his hands along the snowflake quilt again, but felt nothing but fabric. Straightening up, he noticed the door of the wardrobe was slightly ajar.

“Yuuri?” 

His fiancé was examining the window. “Hmm?”

“Did you need anything from the wardrobe before breakfast?”

“No. Why?”

Without answering, Victor looked in the wardrobe, then went to the dresser he was using for more clothes and sundries, and began to check the drawers.

“Victor? Vitya? What’s wrong?”

Victor’s skin was beginning to prickle, as if he was getting goosebumps. “Yuuri? I think—I think someone has been searching my luggage.”

Yuuri’s brows drew together, and he glanced through the wardrobe himself before turning back to Victor. “Is anything missing?”

Victor shook his head. “No. But things look… out of place. As if they’d been put back in a hurry.”

“You should tell the others.”

“Da.” Victor took a breath, tried to dispel the sense of almost-violation. “Let’s go find them.” 

He repeated his suspicion to the troupe as they reassembled in the parlor, but no one else reported the same observation. Nor had there been any further traces of ice or snow in the other rooms of the guest wing.

Wearily, Victor pressed his fingers against his temples as if to push away the threat of a headache. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he sighed. “But I need to _think_!”

“We all do.” Yuuri’s voice was resolute. “And I think I know something that would help us.”

***

“You have the best ideas, _zolotse_.”

Even in a public rink, the smell and sensation of movement over the ice was soothing. Victor saw the rest of the troupe automatically falling into warm-up routines as well.

Yuuri colored faintly. “Well, I know that being on the ice always clears _my_ mind, so—“

“Yes, we are all in need of clear heads,” Chris agreed, coming to a stop by the barrier. “Especially if Victor does not want to be a crowned one.”

Victor sighed. “I’ve been trying to think my way out of it ever since we first came. If I had to be a king… most people living in Russia don’t even remember the Tsar. Yuuri, how do they do it in Japan?”

“At home,” Yuuri began thoughtfully, “the Emperor isn’t really involved in politics. He just does ceremonial things. I was reading in Katya’s history books that Arendelle became a constitutional monarchy just after World War Two. King Sigmund didn’t truly govern, the ministers and the parliament made all the decisions. The King dressed up to declare parliament open, that kind of thing.”

“Dress up and smile,” Yuri mocked, pausing in the middle of his exercise lap. “The old man has been doing that for years—awk!”

He yelped and struggled furiously as Mila hoisted him over her head.

“Put me down, baba!” he shouted. Grinning, she skated a half-lap before handing him to Otabek, who quietly set him on his feet.

Shaking his jacket back into place, Yuri scowled. “I hate it when she does that.”

“At least she didn’t hold you upside down.” Otabek pointed out, then elaborated at Yuri’s curious stare. “My oldest brother would do that, when he thought I got above myself.”

He nudged Yuri lightly. “Let’s take another lap, and you can show me the new step sequence you were thinking of for next season.”

*** 

“Would it really be so terrible to be a king here?” Phichit asked. 

The four of them had gathered by the rink barrier: Victor, Yuuri, Chris, and Phichit. Across the ice, Georgi was holding Katya’s hands and trying to teach her a beginner’s waltz. Mila and Otabek were circling them both, calling out encouraging words, and Yuri was scowling nearby.

“If we can’t find any other way out,” Phichit continued. “Pluses and minuses?”

“I would have to stay. We would have to live here,” Victor began uneasily. “And I don’t think they would let me—us—travel.”

“So, no competitions, not even any ice shows,” Yuuri said.

“It’s more than that.” Chris glanced wryly at Yuuri and Phichit. “I can’t believe I have to be the one to say this, when _you_ —” he pointed at Yuuri, “have an emperor and _you_ —” he pointed at Phichit, “have a king.”

The two younger skaters looked at each other, then back at Chris, in obvious puzzlement.  


The Swiss skater spoke slowly, but with an undertone of exasperation. “Above all else, what is the ultimate job of a king?”

“To provide… the next king.” Yuuri spoke the first words slowly; Phichit finished the sentence along with him.

“Children?” Victor exclaimed, looking at the other three for confirmation. “We—we always thought of that for sometime in the future—”

“We thought we might adopt,” Yuuri said, his eyes troubled now.

Chris was shaking his head. “Think about everything we heard yesterday: they’re going to need Elsa’s _genes_. They could try to arrange a state marriage—they might even tell you they have someone already picked out.”

“Oh.” Even in his own ears, Victor’s voice sounded very small. “Oh, _shit_.”

Thoughts began to race and spin in his head. Everything he and Yuuri had mentioned in passing conversations as possibilities when they considered future children. Adoption, surrogacy, artificial insemination... a state marriage? Oh _no_ … gasping, he pressed his fingers against his forehead again, trying to catch his breath, not realizing he was starting to hyperventilate.

“Victor.” Yuuri’s voice, calm, steadying, cut through the fog. “ _Vitya._ Breathe. Slowly. Yes, like that. Now in again. Now out.”

Yuuri’s hands were holding his. “It’s all right, Vitya. We can figure it out. Whatever we need to do, we’ll do. Breathe again. Yes. Another two times. And then… I want you to skate with me.” 

Yuuri was guiding him, still holding his hands. Out to center ice. Music started from somewhere and he sighed gratefully.

 _Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_ … Yuuri was there, skating with him, supporting him in their duetto. His body fell into the familiar routines as they moved together. The way they would _always_ be together—there was peace in that thought. Peace and calm slowly returned to his mind as well as his body. As their program ended he let himself drift against Yuuri’s side, felt his fiancé’s arms close around him in reassurance. Whatever they had to face—they could face it as long as they had each other.

***

The session drew to an end and the troupe gradually drifted off the ice. They had almost finished packing their gear when the outer door opened and a cluster of perhaps three dozen teenagers spilled into the rink, all in bright blue warm up jackets and carrying skate bags. Before Victor could alert the others, there was a shrill half-scream and everyone looked up.

One of the new arrivals was staring at them, turning back to her companions to point at the troupe—and then to the “Victor and Friends” poster on the wall of the rink.

“Victor!” she called out. “Victor and Friends! Is it really you?”

There was a second, even higher-pitched scream. “Look everyone! It’s MILA! Mila Babicheva!”

Mila’s eyes flared wide with surprise; she looked stunned to hear her name.

The horde of newcomers surged toward the changing area, but came to a halt at a piercing whistle. A slightly frayed-looking middle-aged woman in warm-up clothes reached the head of the group, standing between them and the company.

“Please excuse us,” she said politely, addressing Victor. “We didn’t mean to intrude.”

She fixed the herd of youngsters with a stern eye; there was a slight, shuffling retreat of perhaps three steps backward.

“No offense taken,” Victor said easily. “And you are--?”

“Well, _they_ are the Arendelle Junior Figure Skating League, and this is usually our afterschool practice time. I’m Ingrid Ericsson, their coach. Again, please pardon us, we didn’t realize you hadn’t quite finished your session.”

“Not at all, we were just leaving.”

“Leaving? No, please!” the first impulsive speaker burst out. “Are you really Victor and Friends? What are you doing here?”

Before Victor could fumble for an answer, Chris stepped forward, grinning.

“We’re here on holiday,” he said smoothly. “Just passing through.”

“Yes, just passing through,” Victor repeated, putting on his own public relations smile. From the corner of his eye he saw Yuri slip behind Otabek. “Would you like us to sign autographs?”

“Oh, yes, please!” came a chorus of voices. The coach looked at them sternly again, then turned an apologetic gaze on Victor.

“Only if it isn’t too much trouble—“

“No trouble at all,” Victor said warmly. “It would be our pleasure.”

With a general cheer the junior skaters swarmed their idols. Six were immediately in front of Victor, setting skate bags aside and fumbling through school backpacks for paper and pens. He saw five in front of Chris, four approaching Yuuri, and eight girls in a queue in front of Mila.

"Mila Babicheva." It was said quietly, but in a tone of great satisfaction. Victor turned at the sound of his rinkmate's name as the last junior in front of him retreated, and saw Ericsson standing a little apart from them all, watching with a smile.

"All our girls admire her," she explained at Victor's curious glance as he walked over to join her. "Half of them want to _be_ her."

"We're all proud of her from Worlds'." Victor agreed. Mila had taken bronze for her first medal, after doubling one triple jump and touching down on another. "She'll do even better next year."

More curiosity stirred in him, he gestured at the cluster of teens. “They're all so enthusiastic—have any of your league ever entered for World Juniors competition? I've never seen your country listed."

Coach Ericsson smiled ruefully, and gestured in her turn. "Look around. We are such a small country--this is all the rink facility we have. Hardly world competition level. The youngsters with the greatest ability who wish to compete emigrate to bigger countries, where they can train and find sponsorships. Then they skate for their new country."

"Oh." Victor understood, but it hardly seemed fair, though perhaps inevitable as the coach was describing it.

"Though perhaps things could become different now?" The coach was looking at him significantly. 

Victor's stomach plummeted. “You know?” he asked softly.

"My cousin is an assistant to one of the council ministers. We are a very small country--word gets around, although not everyone has heard."

"I would appreciate it greatly if you would keep it that way," Victor said. "In my mind, nothing is proven."

"You may rely on my discretion," she assured him quietly.

"Thank you.”

Another trio of junior skaters timidly approached, pens and notebooks in hand. A wave of relief, and another of mischief swept through Victor, as he saw a leopard-spotted figure alone on the outskirts of the group. He caught the coach's eye again. "Tell me, are there any fans in your league of my other skaters?"

***

“…and of course we have Yuri’s Angels!”

Yuri gritted his teeth and settled his shoulders, bracing himself as he stepped out of concealment behind Otabek, who was conversing with two boys. He glanced around for his fans, eyes as wary as a cat’s in a strange house.

“Here they are!”

He saw one pair of pink cat ears, and one pair of purple ones—neither came quite up to his collar bone. They stared at him with round, wide eyes, as if unable to believe he was real.

“This is Katrine, and this is Kristi,” Coach Ericsson was saying. “We have a third angel, Karina, but she was sick today and couldn’t come to practice.”

“How polite you both are!” Yuri complimented as he signed two autographs, and drew a little picture of a cat underneath each one. If only all the Angels were so… considerate. Their zeal, in the past, had made him uncomfortable to the point of panic. He saw Victor’s laughing eyes from behind the youngsters, and managed not to glare in return. He wasn’t going to frighten the little ones. In fact…

“You’ve had such good manners, would you like me to sign an autograph for your friend?” he proposed. “You can give it to her, and maybe she will feel better.”

Their delighted smiles gave him an answer. He even posed for selfies after the autograph. Victor, that idiot, was still laughing.

***  
Amused by the sight of Yurio humoring his youngest fans, Victor glanced over at the other troupe members whom he’d last seen doing likewise. Yuuri, his expression bewildered, was signing autographs—but who _wouldn’t_ want one from the current World Champion? Victor thought with more than a little satisfaction. Phichit was taking selfies with his fans, and Mila was still in conversation with hers.

“Sara went home to Italy with her brother,” Mila was saying. “But if you leave me your address I’m sure she would send you a photo.”

The young skater she was talking to looked ecstatic.

Coach Ericsson clapped her hands, and dozens of heads turned towards the sound.

“That will do,” the coach said briskly. “We’ve kept Victor and his friends long enough. Time for practice.”

A sigh went up, but most of the league nodded reluctant agreement. A few glanced towards Victor.

“Are you going to do a show for us in Arendelle?” one girl asked.

“Oh, please do a show here!” another chimed in.

Perhaps the questions were inevitable. Victor deflected quickly.

“Well, that... that would have to be arranged. Not everyone is here, you see.”

But it was the tall girl who had been first in line for Phichit’s autograph who asked the most troubling question.

“Victor? Is it true what they’re saying? Are you really related to Queen Elsa?”

“Ah—that’s not really anything proven,” Victor stumbled, as the entire group of skaters fell silent, staring at him.

“There are pictures. Your eyes are like hers.”

“Rosi,” the coach began, but another youngster burst out.

“Does that mean you could be our king?”

Victor’s throat dried. “I don’t really think—“

“Oh, yes!” At least ten of the league began to implore. “Please, Victor! Come and be our king! Victor, be our king!”

At which point, Christophe Giacometti, suave and sophisticated international figure skating star, doubled over the barricade of the rink and laughed until he cried.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More complications--and an attempt at ghost-whispering.

“Do you remember the first time I talked to you about St. Petersburg?”

“We were on the beach at Hasetsu,” Yuuri recalled. “Listening to the seagulls.”

On the way back from the rink the troupe had found themselves wandering through Oaken’s, the old town’s giant department store. “If you can’t find it at Oaken’s, you can’t find it in Arendelle!” was the colorful advertising slogan posted in the front display window. Halfway through a store guide’s presentation of one of their specialties—a home spa that reminded both Yuuri and Victor of the onsen at Hasetsu—Victor had noticed an obscure side exit. Grasping Yuuri’s hand, he had towed him in its direction. The two of them had slipped away from the others and made their way down to the harbor, finding an empty space on the beach.

“I asked what you needed me to be to you,” Victor continued to reminisce, “and you told me just to be _me_. Myself. No one had ever said that to me before. I think it was the greatest gift I had ever received.”

He sat down facing the ocean, running his fingers through the sand. Yuuri sat quietly beside him.

“I have nothing against this country. But I do not think I could ever _belong_ here as I do in St. Petersburg. Or—Hasetsu.” He took a breath and turned troubled eyes to his fiancé.

“Yuuri--I don't want to be king here. I don't even want to stay. But is it wrong of me--to feel I must do something to help them here, even if I’m not their king?” 

“It was those skaters, wasn’t it? And talking to their coach?”

“You know me so well, _zolotse_ ,” Victor admitted. “After hearing Coach Ericsson and meeting the team… it seems wrong to just run away and leave them.”

“Then maybe you do need to be the king. If you feel you must stay and help them?”

“But if I stayed, what would you do?” Panic rose to the surface as Victor saw his lover’s somber expression. “Oh my god, don’t—Yuuri, don’t leave me!” 

“Vitya!” Yuuri gripped Victor’s right hand with his own, their matching rings gleaming in the light. “I’m not leaving, I promise! But if they can’t find another heir, if you can’t abdicate, then we have to find some way to make this whole—king thing work.”

_We_. Some of Victor’s panic abated on hearing the word. He swallowed down the rest and strove for a lighter tone. “‘ _King thing_ ,’ Yuuri?” 

“You know what I mean,” the younger man said crossly. He tightened his clasp on Victor’s hand. “It won't matter to me where we live. St. Petersburg, Hasetsu--even here--I only want to live with you.”

“And I with you, _dorogoy_.” Victor squeezed his lover’s hand. “We will find a solution, won’t we?”

“Of course we will.”

****

Returning with the other skaters to Arendelle Castle, they found Vanessa had come to pay an afternoon call, and was easily persuaded to join them for dinner. She was entertained by their tale of the ghost hunt, and keenly attentive when they described the snow.

Over dinner, she shared tales of her own. “There were several times I thought I saw—or may have seen—Prince Dmitri.”

“Elsa’s husband? Where?”

“At least three times in the library, and twice in the map room. He was considered a great scholar.” Vanessa paused. “And then after Sigmund became engaged, the whole castle was cleaned and renovated to prepare for his fiancée’s arrival.” She paused again, shaking her head at the memory. “There was such an uproar—everything was in chaos for weeks! But when it was all finished, Sigmund asked me to come with him and help inspect the grand ballroom. I remember how the windows and the chandeliers sparkled, even the floor was gleaming! There was a small alcove with a great display of flowers—and just as we approached a young man appeared there, quite handsome, dressed in the style of the Southern Isles in what would have been Sonia’s time.”

“Prince Nicolas?”

“We didn’t see him long enough to be sure, but—we always suspected.”

“So many ghosts,” Yuuri marveled. “No wonder everyone around here talks as if Elsa and Anna and the others were still here and everyone should know them.”

“That reminds me.” Victor changed the subject very slightly. “Coach Ericsson, at the rink, said the junior league skaters give a performance every year, for the Crown.”

“They do indeed,” Vanessa confirmed. “There is a royal box, at the rink.”

“She also said, at the start of each exhibition, the youngest skater in the league dresses up at Olaf the Snowman, and does a special dance.” Victor grinned across the table. “Just think, Yurio! This year it might even be one of your little angels! Unless you think you’d like to join them?”

The youngest skater glowered at him through narrowed green eyes, but, amazingly, did not rise to the bait, helping himself to more dessert instead.

****

As the meal was cleared away and the troupe left the hospitality suite, Victor managed to approach his Arendelle kinswoman alone, reluctant for their conversation to be overheard.

“Tante Vanessa,” Victor tried to sound casual. “When you say you saw Princess Anna’s ghost—did you ever try to speak to her?”

The Grand Duchess’s face was thoughtful. “Not then, remember, I was quite young. If I saw her now--we might have more to say to each other. Why?”

“I wondered if—” Victor abandoned subterfuge for the simplicity of truth. “I think I may have seen Queen Elsa,” he confessed. “In a dream—or maybe it was a vision.”

“And did she speak to you?”

“She did. I didn’t know how to answer her, but now—I think I do need to speak to her. Do you know—is there any way to—” ‘Call’ seemed the wrong word to use. “To summon her? Or to ask her to appear, and speak to me?”

“Ah.” Vanessa’s eyes seemed to look inward for a moment before meeting Victor’s again. “I have never tried—but there is one thing you might be able to say. If Elsa’s spirit is truly present, it may get her attention.” 

Victor stared at her, almost disbelieving, after she told him the phrase. “What a strange thing to say. Are you sure?”

“It came from Anna’s own journal,” Vanessa declared firmly. “I admit I’ve never tried it, but I believe her.”

****

“Yuuri?” It was barely above a whisper. Victor didn’t really want to wake Yuuri up if his love was sleeping; far from it. For what he had planned, he wanted to be the only one awake.

Yuuri’s breathing was soft and regular. Victor sat up carefully, slid open the nightstand drawer where he had stored the candlestick and the lighter. Taking them both, he eased out of bed. His robe lay over the back of a chair; he caught it up and pulled it on as he padded towards the window alcove.

Opening the curtains just enough to let a shaft of moonlight into the room, he set the candlestick on the windowsill. Nervous, he licked dry lips, took a breath to compose himself before continuing. 

Hard to believe he really _wanted_ to conjure a ghost—but there were things he had to say, and he needed answers. Holding the lighter, keeping his hand as steady as possible, he lit the candle and took a step back. 

“Elsa. Elsa. Elsa.” Her name, repeated three times: supposedly another key in magic. Then, as Vanessa had told him, he whispered six words into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Eto pizdets = This is fucked-up.  
> Der'mo = Shit


End file.
